


Sunday Morning

by noblydonedonnanoble



Series: The Road We Never Drove On [14]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble





	Sunday Morning

                I’m freezing when I wake up. It takes approximately ten seconds for it to register that the window is open, I’m naked, and all of my blankets are gone.

                No. Not gone. Because next I look over and see that David is wrapped up in them all, looking very content in his sleep.

                With a slight smirk, I tug at the blankets, pulling them away from him and covering myself. His legs are still covered, but I watch as the breeze assaults his upper body and goosebumps rise on his skin. It takes less than a minute for him to wake up, shivering.

                His eyes meet mine, and a sleepy smile appears on his face. And then the chill hits him and he says, “Christ, it’s freezing in here!”

                “I feel quite comfortable, actually…”

                “Oh. Of course you do,” he says, attempting to pull the covers back over himself. “You’re hogging the blankets.”

                I allow him enough access to cover himself halfway, and scoot a bit closer. Smiling, I say, “You were hogging them when I woke up. I just reclaimed them.”

                Where I expect a snarky retort, he kisses me instead, soft and slow. I pull away first, making a face. “While I close the window, you should go brush your teeth. Please.”

                David puts on an expression of mock hurt. “I’m disappointed my breath isn’t minty fresh enough for you.” But he gets up with a groan. I wait for him to get to the hall before rising myself and rushing over to the window, slamming it shut.

                When he returns, I’m under the blankets again, wrapped up and particularly pleased with myself. He stands in the doorway, staring at me. “Am I allowed to join you, or…”

                I look him up and down, a wide smile on my face. “I don’t know, I kind of like the view when you’re standing right there…” But I release my iron grip and spread the blankets out, so that David has enough room to crawl underneath them with me.

                “Care to test my breath now?”

                Kissing David still somehow manages to take my breath away, even after all this time. Of course, the fact that this much skin-on-skin contact is sending shivers down my spine also certainly has something to do with it.

                “So,” he whispers against my lips. “Better?”

                “Much.”

                For quite some time, we lie there together. Neither of us speaks much; not because we don’t have anything to say, but because we don’t _need_ to have anything to say. He strokes my hair absentmindedly. Our breathing is in sync. After a while, he reaches down and takes my hand, kissing it gently then holding it against his chest.

                 Moments like this, for us, are scarce. As time goes by, they’ve been happening less and less, because life is taking us both other places.

                Somehow, though, we always find ourselves back here.

                If I had my say, we’d stay like this forever.

                But eventually David says, “Breakfast? I’ll make us both omelets.”

                I burrow my head into the crook of his neck. “I think food is unnecessary and over-rated. Hunger makes life tedious. I’d rather stay here.”

                “We can’t stay here forever,” he says, chuckling into my hair.

                “Oh, wait a moment.” I make a move to sit up. “I’ll go grab my handcuffs and we’ll see about that.”

                David laughs and pulls me back into his arms. “I love you,” he breathes. “Really, though. Let’s eat.”

                “You ruin all of my fun…” Even though I catch his _I love you_ , I make no response to that. I don’t think he expects one. “Go on and start. I’m going to get dressed.”

                When he cooks me breakfast, David likes to dance around my kitchen clad in nothing but his pants and my most frilly apron. He usually plays Coldplay. And I sit at the table and watch him, beaming because things just feel better with David around. He doesn’t even seem to realize how much energy he fills my flat with, how much energy he fills _me_ with.

                I think I love our mornings even more than I love our nights.

                Under the table, he keeps kicking my feet while we eat. Wiggling his toes against mine, attempting to tickle me, occasional nudges just for the sake of nudging. Meanwhile, his expression remains entirely innocent. Until I kick him back, at which point he acts outraged and we spend a few minutes assaulting each other with soft kicks and pokes.

                Then he leans over the table and kisses me and that takes up some time too.

                “Do you cook breakfast every morning?”

                He looks at me thoughtfully, pushing the remaining bits of his omelet around on his plate. “No. My household is mostly a frozen waffle type of household. That and cereal. Maybe oatmeal, on some rare occasions.”

                I lean forward a little and smile, tongue between my teeth. “To what do I owe the pleasure, then, of receiving such fine-cooked meals every time you’re here?”

                “Because.” He leans closer too, but his expression is more serious. “You deserve the best I can give whenever I’m able to give it.”

                Even though the statement practically makes my heart burst and I should probably acknowledge it in some way to express my thanks, I don’t want to think along those lines. So I lean back in my chair and say, “I’m fairly certain you’re the only person who’s ever been topless in this kitchen.”

                He’s in the middle of chewing, but he shakes his head and speaks anyway. “Not true, Catherine. To refresh your memory—“

                I flush at the thought. “The only person who’s ever eaten topless in this kitchen.”

                “And cooked. And danced. And sung. And shagged you.” I attempt to interrupt but he continues. “Multiple times, actually. On multiple surfaces. Of course on those occasions you were topless too.” He cocks his head at me. “Have you really not eaten in here with no shirt on?”

                I shrug. “Does it disappoint you that I don’t lounge around my house naked?”

                “A little.” I kick him under the table again, but he’s just smirking at me.

                We finish breakfast almost simultaneously; I grab our plates and toss them onto the counter before he has the opportunity to even attempt to deal with his own dishes.

                “What time did you say you have to go, again?” I ask, leaning against the sink.

                “I should leave and find a cab in maybe…” He glances down at his watch. “Five hours? That should be enough time.”

                Five hours. A lot can be done in five hours. I raise my eyebrows. “What should we do ‘til then?”

                David stands, and takes the few strides necessary to close the distance between us. His hands go to my hips, and he looks down at me with a cocky smirk on his face. “I can think of a few things we could do.”

                It seems that there was very little point in my getting dressed to eat breakfast, because we do return to my bed. My room is no longer cold, and we roll around, becoming tangled together, tangled in blankets and sheets, as he makes love to me again and again.

                “Catherine…” he murmurs. Our faces are so close together, and I don’t so much hear him say my name as I feel his hot breath on my skin.

                “Yes David?”

                “Can we lounge around your house naked?”

                I make a face at him, but he furrows his eyebrows and good Lord he’s _serious_.

                Because I’m protective of my furniture, though, I don’t want that because I don’t trust him (fuck it, I don’t trust myself). So I have him put on his pants and I put on my bra and knickers and we sit in front of the telly together. I curl up against his chest, and I don’t think either of us is actually watching the program that’s on; we’re just holding each other and letting the sound wash over us. He plays with my fingers, at one point examining each one and kissing the fingertips. “Because I can. And since I can, I will.”

                I sit perched on my bed and watch him get ready, gathering his things and getting dressed (I’m particularly disappointed about the putting on clothes part). Almost to myself, I say, “Thank you.”

                This makes David pause in his tracks and he looks at me. “For what?”

                “I…” There are so many things I could thank him for. For the night, for breakfast, for being… David. But that’s not why I’m saying thank you, not really. It’s just that I’m not sure if I would be able to put my precise reason into words. “I don’t know how to describe it.”

                He immediately sits down beside me and takes hold of my hand. “Think you could try?”

                Of course. For David, I’m always willing to try. “Sometimes… sometimes, I have a hard time remembering. Why I feel so strongly about you, why we risk all that we do. I wonder what made all of that time in our dressing rooms during Much Ado worth it; what makes stolen moments now worth it.”

                “But?” He’s bracing himself. Actually bracing himself. Like it could be something bad.

                “Thank you for giving me these moments. These moments where you’re all mine. Thank you for reminding me why I love you.”

                We kiss goodbye at the door, and this kiss is different from all the others because we have no idea when it will happen again.

                Right before I shut the door, he turns and says, “Oh, Catherine. Next time, you better be prepared to lounge around naked.”

                I close the door with a slam, but make sure that he can hear me laughing.


End file.
